


(i think it's time that i told you) i'm a fan of your universe

by blurryfaced



Series: (i said) here, is where i'll be living 'till my time's up [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, and because there isn't enough girl jaebum out there to keep me happy, girl jaebum, i decided to remedy that, i found a poet on tumblr and i really like their stuff, lapslock, not me certainly, so i was going through their poems and shit and got inspired by this one poem, this may be the start of a series of unrelated oneshot revolving around some form of girl7, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8485861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryfaced/pseuds/blurryfaced
Summary: choi youngjae is smitten. he knows it. he hasn't found it in him to think of it as a problem.





	

**Author's Note:**

> no plot in this. literally. there isn't even dialogue. it's word vomit if anything.
> 
> girl7 has been consuming my thoughts lately a lot. so maybe i'll have a series now of short little things like these inspired by songs or poems i see about... also, why isn't there so much girl jaebum?? it's such a lovely concept you should give it a try, please and thank you.
> 
> —mack

_maybe there's a way out there_  
_to make loving you easier_  
_but if there is, i do not think_  
_i would choose it anyway_

_i wish that i could warn you_  
_of the battlefield running_  
_down your spine, an atlas_  
_of a lighting storm and_  
_i, the sailor lost at your seas_

_maybe there's another world_  
_where loving a warrior is_  
_easier, or softer, or gentler_  
_but this is not that world_

_to love a girl with mars_  
_shaking in her bones_  
_is to look into the sun_  
_and ask it not to burn_

_to be a girl who loves_  
_the sun is the hardest_  
_battle i have ever fought_

_and yet, i would not dare stop_

— [m.j. pearl](http://fairytalesques.tumblr.com/post/97748727690/lydiamaartin-sunkissed-battlefields)

 

 

 

 

people tell him it won’t be easy, loving her. he has heard everything from she’s too much trouble for him to handle, to him not being enough for her, to the two of them being far too different for them to click together. it bothered him, and, sometimes, it still does, but he’s learning. he’s learning that, those people, the people who don’t think the two of them will last, are the ones who see her as what she looks like, not who she is.

and he thinks he can see where they’re coming from, looking at her now. she’s leather and sharp angles; wide shoulders and scuffed boots. he smiles when he looks at her face, at her features, at the almost bored touch to her default expression. it isn’t her fault that she doesn’t look happy when she’s lost in thought or not feeling anything. he knows that, he likes to think he always knew that. always knew that she wasn’t going to be the fairytale girl that people talk about.

because she dresses in blacks and blues, maybe giving in thrice a month and wearing white. she doesn’t make it a habit, and he wonders why. he wonders why someone so soft dresses so hard. he asked her, once, and she just shrugged. she does that a lot, he notices.

she doesn’t like listening to other people’s opinions about her. she cut her hair shorter and shorter by herself until he convinced her to get it cut professionally, and now it sits just past her chin, like a dark curtain that always gets tucked behind her ears. she’s got them pierced, you know. several times, and she never really wears studs. she likes hoops and small earcuffs and they look nice on her, they suit her and the curve of her ears.

he still remembers the time she came to him, frown deeply set in her face. he was perplexed and stammered; he’d never seen her like that, before. and it felt somehow as if it was his fault that he hadn’t been there to keep her from getting upset. but she wasn’t upset, as she kept telling him, and it wasn’t his fault. she had put on a little weight after an injury hadn’t allowed her to continue working out daily, and people had commented on it.

he’d tried to be gentle, tried not to startle her, when he’d offered his explanation as to why. why the comments would get to her, even when she didn’t care what the rest of the world had to say about her. her frown deepened but she stayed the night. it was his first little victory.

and now, he looks at her, _really_ looks at her. she’s sat on his sofa in her jeans and socks, one of his t-shirts stretched across her shoulders, and she’s eating ice-cream. he smiles when he spies her trying to cram as much in with each spoonful. she never was one for that fairytale image, that one where she takes dainty mouthfuls and acts delicate. he doesn’t think he’d want her like that, anyway.

and then she looks at him, spoon catching on her lip. she stops and just stares at him, raising her eyebrows. there are two moles on her left eyelid, just under her eyebrow, and he thinks about how much he likes them.

he couldn’t stop looking at them when they first met, you know. a lot of people don’t like blemishes, he’s noticed, but she kept her moles and didn’t bother to cover them up with some kind of make-up. her face has almost always been naked around him, he thinks. it’s comforting, possibly, to consider the idea that she’s so comfortable around him that she doesn’t mind him seeing everything.

she’s pulling the spoon from her mouth, asking him what’s wrong, what's he doing. what’s he thinking.

he just smiles wider, feels it pulling at his cheeks. there’s an amused quirk to her lips as she repeats her question, resting her spoon in her now empty bowl. he moves closer on the sofa and grasps her bowl in both hands, putting it on the coffee table. she’s till watching him when he turns back, kneeling next to her.

her eyes are dark, and feline in shape. there’s something about them that he can’t put his finger on. he’s not even sure which part of them is what’s captivating, whether it’s something to do with the depth, the lashes framing them, the way she looks at him, or the soft curve of her upper lid.

her hair looks so soft, like it’s been washed recently. it’s framing her face just right, having gotten free of her ears. it probably tickles her chin, now. he smooths his fingers over her jaw, a jaw that he’s heard other people say is too sharp for a girl, too prominent, but he loves it. he loves every part of her, from her wide shoulders to her feline eyes, from her prominent jaw to her thin lips.

her cheeks are warm in his palms and she’s looking at him like he’s crazy, now. people tell him that he can’t possibly love her enough to keep her satisfied; that girls like her are never satisfied with just one man devoting attention to them; that she must be looking for attention somewhere else. but he knows that they don’t know her, that they haven’t met her. because, even if he does have insecurities, even if he does doubt himself too much, she’s always there at the end of the day.

she’s holding onto his wrist with one hand now, rubbing small circles on the inside with her thumb. she stops asking questions and just stares back at him, gazes, and he wonders if she’s doing what he’s doing. if she’s looking at his face and thinking of all the things she loves about it, about him, about how neither of them are the fairytales they were grown up hearing about.

he kisses her because he knows. he knows she’s just as smitten about him as he is about her.

and he kisses her.

he just kisses her.


End file.
